


By the Moonlight

by TheVoiceofWrath (meet_your_fate)



Series: Werewolves and Waistcoats [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, M/M, waltzing in the moonlight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-16
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-08 15:52:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/763190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meet_your_fate/pseuds/TheVoiceofWrath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia Martin's engagement gala might be the event of the season, but Stiles isn't much enjoying it. He goes on a depressed stroll through the gardens only to stumble across the mysterious Derek Hale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By the Moonlight

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by my darling [gigacat](http://gigacat.tumblr.com/). Here, have a little story where Regency werewolves are a thing and Stiles really wants to dance. I might come back to this sometime and write a sequel, if I can figure out how to cast everyone. Come find me on [tumblr](http://thevoiceofwrath.tumblr.com/), I promise I'm friendly!

The engagement gala the Martins are throwing for their daughter, the beautiful heiress Lydia, and her affianced is a very grand and formal affair. Of course everyone who’s anyone is in attendance. The string quintet is magnificent. The food and drink is second to none. Lydia’s dress, a spectacle of rosy peach fabric, plays divinely with her heavenly strawberry blond hair. It’s even more mesmerizing by the light of the massive chandelier in the ballroom, as she dances with her fiancé. The unbearable fool; one wonders what she sees in Lord Whittemore’s son, Jackson. Aside from a ridiculous sum of money, of course.

Stiles rather hopes the money is not the issue. Oh, of course he never thought Lydia would actually pay _him_ any attentions, but thinking that she might have were he of more wealthy means… Well, it rankles. There are more important things in life than having the most expensive things, though that is not a truth Miss Martin will ever have to know. But, of course, it must have nothing to do with the money; she’s far too perfect a creature to have such base motivations.

He had meant to spend the evening complaining at his dearest friend, but Scott McCall is doing his level best to make himself a laughingstock in his attempts at wooing Miss Allison Argent. One worries for Miss Argent’s toes. At least she’s bearing it well, if her smile is anything to judge by. Stiles looks around for anyone to stand and chat with… He does not have an abundance of friends, especially those who would care to hear his lamenting unrequited affections. There are a few more loose acquaintances he could trouble, but Isaac Layhey seems quite content hiding behind a potted plant and pretending to be invisible, while Daniel is busy being a social butterfly. Perhaps Stiles will go and tour the Martin’s gardens. It’s said they’re the loveliest gardens in the whole county.

The night air is cool compared to the warmth of the ballroom. Refreshing. He strolls along the pathway and looks over the various flowers. His own mother always liked to keep roses… His thoughts are distant, which is why he almost walks right past the garden bench without realizing someone is sitting on it. He pauses and blinks at them.

Derek Hale, one of the few who survived the tragic fire at Hale Manor some years back. Stiles hadn’t known the Hales were even invited; there’s a stigma of dark mystery attached to them, despite their social status. “Mr. Hale. Forgive me, I did not see you there,” he says, smiling. He pays no mind to social stigma.

Mr. Hale frowns and shakes his head. “It’s no matter. I was only seeking respite from the festivities.”

 “You aren’t enjoying it?” Stiles asks. It’s only polite to make conversation, after all.

Mr. Hale looks at him as if he’s simple. “Oh yes, I quite enjoy it when people whisper behind their hands as I walk past. I shouldn’t have come at all.”

Stiles can see how that would be a problem. “Well, for the record, I’m not enjoying it either. Everyone’s so _happy_ for the couple.”

“That reeks of bitterness… Stilinski?”

Stiles nods. “I tend to go by ‘Stiles’, though. It’s easier. But, I assure you, I’m not _bitter_. I wish Miss Martin every happiness with her chosen man. I just wish that man had been me.”

Mr. Hale quirks a brow. “Does she even know you exist?”

“Probably not, despite my efforts,” Stiles sighs, inviting himself to sit beside Mr. Hale. Who seems offended by Stiles in general, but that’s alright. It’s pretty common.

“She probably wanted to marry someone who would inherit a title,” Mr. Hale reasons, if perhaps grudgingly so. As if he has never attempted to comfort someone in his whole life and has no idea how to manage it or why he’s even trying.

“She’s an angel walking on our mortal plane; such schemes are below her,” Stiles insists. “And you, Mr. Hale, shouldn’t question the character of a lady, let alone at her own party.”

The man frowns. “Derek. My father was Mr. Hale…”

“Derek then. How do you expect to make friends if you talk meanly about people?”

Derek gazes off across the path, though Stiles doesn’t think he’s appreciating the flowers in the moonlight. “I have no interest in making friends,” he says after a moment.

Stiles looks curiously at the man. “That sounds terribly lonely. But I suppose I can’t judge; I’m not rich in friends either. I’d probably ask a lady to dance and be laughed at for the trouble. Which is a shame; I like dancing…”

“It’s a foolish pastime.”

Stiles laughs. “I suppose it is. You’re a dour sort of fellow, aren’t you?”

The _look_ Derek gives him, well… Stiles really ought to have thought about that before speaking; of course Derek Hale is _dour_ , what with most of his family being so tragically lost in the fire. “Yes, right. I apologize.”

Derek shakes his head. Either because he doesn’t want to hear it or because it isn’t necessary, Stiles doesn’t know.

“I should go find some unpopulated area of the gardens to be maudlin in. Leave you to your peace…”

Derek shakes his head again. “I don’t mind sharing the bench.”

Stiles nods. “Alright, then we’ll share the bench. So… Why did you not decline the invitation to the ball tonight if you loathe dancing?”

“I never said I loathed it.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Stiles says, frowning in confusion. “Either it’s a foolish pastime that you loathe, or it isn’t.”

“One can enjoy something and still deem it foolish,” Derek insists.

“You’re confounding,” Stiles chuckles. They sit in silence for a few moments, Stiles idly listening to the music as it filters out from the manor. He sways a bit with it. “There’s really not a single woman in attendance that you would dance with?”

“I’m sure none of them would be seen with me, whether I would ask them for a dance or not.” Derek frowns and looks at him. “Why are you still on about this?”

“I don’t know. I suppose I think it’s unfair that I would gladly dance the whole night long and yet there is no one, while you are content to not dance at all despite what I’m sure would be a surprising number of takers. _You_ have the advantage of being quite handsome,” Stiles insists, gesturing in the general direction of Derek’s face. Surely that face would have the ladies lining up to dance with Derek; ladies enjoy a mysterious man with a handsome visage.

Said handsome face contorts into a scowl. “You’re being ridiculous,” Derek insists.

“If you say so.”

“I _do_ say so, actually. What will it take to make you be companionably silent?” Derek asks.

Stiles shrugs a little. “I haven’t any idea. If you should find an answer, be sure to share it with my father.”

Derek sighs. “How about a dance?”

“With who?”

“ _Me_ , you imbecile.”

Stiles blinks, trying to picture it. “How do two men dance together?”

“Easily. I lead and you follow,” Derek explains, quite obviously exasperated.

“My, isn’t _that_ a little presumptuous?” Stiles teases, grinning.

Derek’s eyes roll, whether from annoyance or amusement Stiles will never know. “Do you want to dance or not?”

“Why not?” Stiles stands and doesn’t have to wait more than a few seconds before Derek is grabbing him into the proper hold for a waltz. Then they’re dancing, Stiles’s hand awkwardly in Derek’s and his other upon Derek’s shoulder. He doesn’t feel terribly unmanned by following and he only trods on Derek’s foot once before he gets the hang of it. He chuckles. “You’re not half bad at this. Actually, you’re quite good.”

Derek’s only reply is a quirked brow.

“And you’re not as tall as I imagined while you were sitting,” Stiles continues.

Derek frowns. “You’re really not going to shut up, are you?”

“Probably not, no. This is terribly romantic, dancing in the moonlight. Let’s hope no one comes along and gets the wrong idea.”

“I don’t care what people think,” Derek insists.

“Then why are you out here instead of in the ballroom?”

Derek doesn’t answer, just continues to dance him about the garden walkway. Stiles watches Derek’s face because he never understood the point of looking away when dancing with someone. They’re so close. They should be talking more and getting to know each other. Maybe they can be friends. Stiles would like that. His fingers begin to tap in time with the music on Derek’s shoulder.

“Will you _desist_?” Derek asks. Demands, really. Perhaps _growls_.

“Alright, but I’ll have to talk more. Why aren’t you married?”

Derek sighs. “I don’t want to be married, even if there was someone _to_ marry. Why are you so curious about the state of my social life?”

“Because it’s fascinating. You’re dancing with me, out here in the gardens like clandestine lovers, but you seem to not care about much of anything. I think you’re pretending to not care. I think you care very much.”

“I think you think too much,” Derek mutters.

“You’ll hear no argument there,” Stiles says, grinning. “My father says I have an overactive brain.”

Derek nods, as if that explains it. Some few minutes pass by with Stiles chattering and then the waltz ends, another tune taking its place. Their dance comes to a stop and Stiles thinks it’s almost reluctant in the way it tapers off, in the way Derek’s hold seems to linger.

“We should do this again sometime,” Stiles says, smiling.

“Aren’t you worried about _your_ reputation?” Derek asks.

Stiles shakes his head. “They already think me odd. Lovable, but strange, and that’s only the people who actually notice me.”

Derek’s face takes a cranky sort of turn. “You’re impossible to ignore. You talked to yourself, did you know? While you were walking alone?”

Stiles blinks. He hadn’t realized, no. “Did I say anything interesting?”

“Not particularly.”

Stiles laughs. He gives Derek’s shoulder a squeeze. “You’re funny. I don’t know how I thought you were so serious, and such a short while ago, too. And you’re a good dancer. Some fair maiden would surely be happy to—”

And then Derek is kissing him. It’s strange and confusing and a little scratchy from Derek’s rakish stubble, but it’s… it’s _nice_. He has a brief few seconds to return it before Derek is pulling back and glaring a bit at him. _That_ , Stiles doesn’t understand. “What could _I_ have done that warranted such a look? _You_ kissed _me_ , sir, need I remind you.”

“It was a means to silence you,” Derek insists. It must be a trick of the moonlight, but Stiles could swear Derek’s eyes flash a strange blue color…

Stiles smiles. “If you say so. Dance with me some more.”

And Derek does.


End file.
